Frank Sinatra, Ava, Me, and Mafia Don Sam Maceo

I had been at the helm of “The Harry Martin Show” on KLAC for a couple of weeks when Frank Sinatra walked into the station patio. “Harry,” he exclaimed, his incandescent blue eyes shining on me, “I’m Frank Sinatra.” He took my hand and asked,” How is Gale Patrick’s box?” I almost shrank through the holes in my shoes.

He told me that he had heard me doing baseball color, substituting for Gary Goodwin at Gilmore Field for the Hollywood Stars baseball game with Seattle. I had been asked by the regular play caller, Jack Sherman, to lead off the game and do play-by-play until he returned from a dugout interview with one of the players. While doing the game, I committed the biggest gaffe of my life…up ‘til then.

When Sherman asked me if I could do color, I relied, “Sure!”, as if I were an old play-by- play man and that was a silly question. It was Triple A ball, but major league Hollywood stars, such as Groucho Marx, Milton Berle, Gene Autry, Gail Patrick (a gorgeous movie star) and a galaxy of others had boxes along the baselines.

Now, armed with this bit of Hollywood trivia, I launched into the game with aplomb. The first at bat had been a routine grounder to short stop and relayed to first. Great! I was into the flow of the game when Jim Baxis, the Hollywood Stars third baseman came to bat. I will tell you word for word what I said: “Jim Baxis is up; here’s the pitch by Wilson; Baxis sends a screaming line drive right into Gail Patrick’s box.” For those not familiar with the archaic term “box”, it was used in those days to designate a woman’s private parts.

Sheer chaos ruled the broadcast booth. The engineer collapsed at his post, howling uncontrollably. Seated behind me as guests of the team were Milton Berle, then at the height of his comedic powers, and future media giant, Gene Autry. Berle began laughing in a high pitched giggle, reminiscent of a Hyena. Autry erupted into a cascade of belly laughs. I saw nothing funny.

It took Jack Sherman’s arrival moments later to restore order. He heard what had happened from the berserk engineer, then nudged me to the side, and resumed covering the game in his unflappable style. Meantime, several plays had taken place.

Word flew around KLAC the following day about my faux pas. But, before I could be ritualistically tagged out of my fledgling baseball career, Gary Goodwin returned from his hiatus, and took over in a natural course of things.

I thought it had blown over when Frank arrived that next day and led off with his embarrassing greeting with the “Gail Patrick’s box” bit. Then, he placed a hand on my shoulder, “That’s okay, Harry. I’ve had more embarrassing times than that.” I doubted it, but was willing to let him save the moment, which was destined to be the beginning of a warm relationship between us.

Frank told me that he had heard me praising him on my KLAC show, often playing several of his songs on a single show; songs such as “All or Nothing at All”, “If You Are But a Dream” and “I Couldn’t Sleep a Wink Last Night.” On the air, I had marveled at how he could sustain a note forever, sliding from one phrase to another, without pausing for breath.

I had coffee with Frank that first day at Coffee Dan’s on Vine, the beginning of a series of visits with him, usually every two weeks. We talked music, nothing personal about him. I knew he was still married to Nancy and had had a long love affair with Ava Gardner. KLAC jock Don Otis had walked into Coffee Dan’s and seen me with Frank. He strongly advised me later that day to avoid mentioning Ava to Frank when we were together.

I only wanted to talk about music, anyway. Frank loved jazz and was glad to hear me play Stan Kenton. He told me that June Christy had been hired by Kenton, because she sounded like a brass instrument.

His other fascination lay with the way Antonio Carlos Joabim sang so effortlessly. He thought it had to do with his singing in Portuguese, a language he deemed superior to English as a music medium. He was entranced with the way Portuguese singers could syncopate in that lyrical language. Soon, he would collaborate with Joabim in a gorgeous Reprise LP of songs, exploiting Frank’s new fascination with floating above the beat.

His “Music for Swingin’ Lovers” was his own statement using that technique. In 1955, I was in on his bringing to fruition his theory about liquid tempo. To perfect it, I arranged for him to sneak down to practice in San Diego, away from Nelson Riddle, the arranger. You can hear him take liberties with that strong Riddle tempo in his rendition of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” There are passages in that song where he seems to be weightless.

As I mentioned in a prior piece, part of my gig was to board op for a major jock who could not quite get the hang of the board. I sat in a studio adjoining him separated by a large window through which, via a squawk box, he gave me instructions.

That day, about an hour into the show, I looked up and saw this apparition standing in the doorway gazing at me: the swan neck; the alabaster skin; the green feline eyes, and those cheek bones … oh, those cheek bones. It was Ava Gardner.

She paralyzed me with a smile and glided into the next studio where the big time jock sat. There, she planted a lingering kiss on his cheek. My dream woman, Ava Gardner in the next studio kissing ... him. My innards shriveled. Then she went over to the wall and turned off the studio lights. I heard the jock’s constricted voice squawking thorough the squawk box.

“Segue some songs”, he ordered.

“How many”, I asked.

“Three”, he rasped.

“You mean play three in a row?” I asked, having serendipitously invented the now hackneyed radio term “three in a row.” I took his silence to be a yes.

I cannot attest to what happened in that studio. If Ken Starr pinned me to the wall and demanded on pain of the death penalty what happened, I could not say. But I will attest that the jock was only a one record man.

I never told Frank, because he was hurting enough. I am certain that if I had told him about her that he would never have forgiven me

That April, Frank left town without a word. He went to a joint in Jersey called “The 500 Club”, literally to sing for his supper. There, for the price of a Coke, you could sit all evening and hear the greatest pop singer in the world croon his rapturous ballads..

It all fell apart for me at the end of that year. I was drafted into the army, and left for Fort Sam Houston; then sent to Camp Rucker in Alabama.

I did my 13 weeks of basic, and after “graduation”, entered a post phone booth and called a buddy in Hollywood, the one guy who knew about Ava and the jock. I wasn’t that principled. You have to tell someone.

He was newsy. He said, “Frank is back in town. He is about to start a television show, and he is back with Ava.”

We all know that he landed the role of Maggio in “From Here to Eternity,” probably due to Ava’s influence. He was paid the minimum $8,000 for his haunting performance that copped an Academy Award. From there, he never looked back.

I saw Frank and Ava after their marriage. The first time I saw them together she eyed me warily, obviously concerned that I might betray her to Frank. Of course, I did not. After all, she was still my fantasy woman.

Post Scriptum: I did not know for years that Frank’s surprise appearance at KLAC to “say hello” was due to Mafia Don Sam Maceo’s intercession.

Maceo was a major force in getting me to Hollywood, not because he was going to ask me for “a favor” in later years, but because, to me, he was a good man.

Sam Maceo even gave me a thousand 1950-dollars to help tide me over. I tell that story in detail in the chapter titled, “Mafia Don Sam Maceo, My Patron Saint.”

I went to Galveston a few years later and lunched with Maceo’s former muscle, Anthony Fertitta. Maceo had died in a botched minor operation the year before, and Fertitta had taken over the rackets. His background dated back to the time when, as Maceo’s “official greeter,” he received a guest named Frank Nitti at the Galveston train station

Nitti had been sent by Al Capone to inform Maceo that the Chicago gang was grabbing the Maceo empire. When Nitti arrived, Fertitta did not take him to see Sam and Rose Maceo, the elder Don. Instead, he drove Nitti to the isolated dunes of West Beach where they parked and had a chat.

There, Fertitta either said, or did, something to Nitti that made him change his mind about taking over the Maceo interests on the Gulf Coast. Nitti apparently was terrified after that session and returned to Chicago to inform Big Al that the Maceos were not to be messed with.

My host now was a different Anthony Fertitta, a courteous gentle man, who sat with me over lunch in the posh Balinese Room, and set me straight on a couple of things that had been hanging with me for years.

Fetitta said to me, “To Mr. Maceo, you were a poor kid who needed a boost, Harry. He asked Frank Sinatra to watch after you ‘til you got set. He admired your talent and liked you because you were so ‘fulla shit’.” Frank never told me that Maceo had sent him.

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In recent years, I have stowed most of my awards and trophies away in drawers or out of sight. Among them are: Ohio Hall of Fame Award; Lifetime Achievement Award: the key to Yokohama, and a certificate verifying that I am the record holder for a jet passenger flying around the world. One I hold in great esteem these days is a highly complimentary note from Randy Michaels sent when I won the Ohio Award. I greatly admire him and keep that note where I can see it every day, framed above my PC.

I know that Randy is a talent snob, so imagine my feeling upon receiving his over the top note. Now, here he is in charge of the Tribune Properties, the most massive media entity in the country - 31 newspapers, 76 websites, 3 cable companies, 40 TV stations, and counting.

The only other framed memento on my desk is a recent note from Lee Abrams that I had placed alongside Randy’s. It’s downright mystical - - a note from Randy and one from Lee, side-by-side before they joined together in Chicago. Is my spirit guide at work here?

Lee is now Randy’s “Innovation Officer,” arriving in Chicago on April 1st to plug in his limitless vision, and highly positively charged energy.

Those two together, what a show! They ought to sell tickets.

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This country’s greatest living American, Jerry Coleman, is coming out with a new biography. He flew dive bombers in both WW2 and Korea. He rose to Lt. Colonel in the Air Corp/Force, garnering more medals than his fabled modesty allows him to admit. He played as fine a 2nd base as was ever played with the New York Yankees. He now does a riveting play by play job for the San Diego Padres. You will soon read about his amazing life. Details on the new book next week.

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Mark Ramsey will soon be my guest on the internet radio station, SignOnRadio.com. I became a devotee of Mark’s through his writings in this site, only to discover that he lives here in San Diego, a bonus with cheese. I regard Mark as the most knowledgeable man in the country concerning the upcoming state of the art in media, and the new high tech toys on the horizon. His appearance, TBA, will be a tutorial for all. My Happy Hare Show runs Wednesdays from 1-3p PST. Ron James’s is the Managing Editor of SignOnRadio.com, a San Diego Union-Tribune property

On a personal note, I just underwent a complete physical and was declared good to go for another several decades. My role model is Bernard Baruch, an elder statesman, who presided over a park bench in New York’s Central Park. Regarded as one of the wisest men in the world, he was often approached and answered whatever the questioner had in mind. He was often asked what was the most important thing in the world. Instead of “world peace”, or “the economy,” he would always reply, “your health.” After being wired up and probed, they said I have the heart of a 30 year old, and a pristine prostate, among other things

Our movie,” Kings of the Evening,” is happening. The company is called Picture Palace Films. “Kings” was produced and written by Robert Page Jones, and directed by his son, the brilliant young director, Andrew P Jones, recognized in prior festivals for his deft handling of this uplifting story. “Kings of the Evening” is scheduled to be shown at The Atlanta Film Festival on April 17th at 7:10 pm and again April 18th at the 4 pm matinee. http://atlantafilmfestival.com 

I will go to Hollywood on March 30th to attend a major film event, a showing of our movie at the prestigious Wilshire Screening Room, deemed the most elegant movie theater in the country, an exclusive venue where producers, directors and writers go to view each others’ work.


“Love can light on a monkey’s back”. My “granmaw” Bess Britton.